I've written on here many times, always made out I was younger and that the stuff happened more recently than it actually did. I have decided it is time to be myself, still, still tell my tales but be honest about when things really happened. I know that at sixty-five I’m too old to have many new adventures, but four wives down the road, and countless sexual partners, I think I have a lot tot tell. I am sure many of you will enjoy stuff from my richly erotic past.. One of my favourite memories goes back to when I was twenty. At that time I was engaged to a girl named Belinda. We’d been an item since we were at sixth-form together. We planned to marry a year down the line from when this all took place. What follows probably would never have happened if Belinda and I hadn’t found one of my older brother’s contact magazines down the back of the sofa. It was when Belinda and I were babysitting for him and his wife up at their place. That night we picked our way though the photo-ads together in dumbfounded disbelief: all those people wanting to meet other people and do weird shit with each other. It really opened our eyes. Stuff I had only ever fantasised about was common place. Everyone was up to things I’d thought of as shameful. Seeing it all there in black and white was such a release. The possibilities were staggering. After finding the mag, among other things, Belinda and I discussed who among our friends we would like to have sex with. Without hesitation she said his name: Mark. God, she was emphatic about that, kept saying that she’d like to do it with Mark, wanted Mark more than any other person. So I agreed that if ever circumstances arranged things, she and he could get it on and I would not object. Of course I made conditions. The big one being that we advertise for a girl to have threesome with. And even though at that time Belinda had never expressed an interest in other females, she said okay. But that is another story. I could perfectly understand the thing she had for Mark. He was an inordinately good looking guy. Over six foot tall, he had those long limbs that you really need to carry big muscles without looking deformed. His surfer boy, shoulder length, dirty blond hair lessened the intimidating mass his muscle-laden body projected. He was a year younger then me, still fresh-faced, and aged nineteen like Belinda. At that time he was just a guy who worked for one of the big flour milling companies delivering to bakeries. Lugging those giant sacks of flour all day had left him with a body to die for. Mark was married to Jean, Belinda’s oldest friend. Jean was eight months pregnant when all this happed so did not have a part in it -- much as I would loved to have fucked her, sexy little redhead that she was. Pregnant of not. And I have to say here, before reading that mag, nothing sexual had happened between us as couples. But this is what did happen. It was just after Christmas in 1971. Three days before New Year’s Eve Belinda and I went to stay at Mark and Jean’s for two days. We planned to be back for New Years Eve for a family do. We spent the evening drinking beer, chatting and playing cards. At eleven Jean said she was exhausted and going to go to bed. Mark got us blankets for the bed-sofa and made it up for us. He didn’t seem ready to call it a night just then so the three of us sat up talking some more. He’d had a lot to drink. I didn’t realise how much until he started banging on about how many of the office girls he’d snogged at the work’s party the Friday before Christmas. “Lucky them,” Belinda said. The hint of envy in her tone was so obvious even Mark noticed. “So you think they were lucky heh?” Mark said, his expression changing from an intoxicated weariness to outright focused interest. He stared at Belinda and she stared back. Daring him, I thought. “You know what babe, it might be your lucky day,” he said. He always called her Babe. He got up and went out into the hall and a minute later came back holding up a tired looking sprig of mistletoe. He held it up as if inspecting it for blemishes, while saying, “I knew you were coming, Belinda, so I saved it just for you.” Then looking over at me, “You don’t mind, do you mate? Christmas and all that. Goodwill towards all men -- and women too, of course.” Belinda looked over at me, her eyes saying please don’t get all possessive on me now, Martin. And of course it was what we had discussed, what I had said okay to. But I was still reeling at the shock of how fast things were moving. She was soon on her feet and moving towards him, smiling shyly as if she were about to have her first ever kiss, all the while looking into his eyes with a smile of gleeful anticipation. When she reached him, she stood before him perfectly still with her arms straight down, her hands clasped together looking little girl coy. She actually fluttered her heavily massacred eyelids. I’d never seen her do that look before, not even when she was younger and genuinely naive. And so with his right hand holding the mistletoe above her, he took her in his left arm and they kissed. God, the way they went at each other! It floored me. It was as if they had both been waiting all their lives for that moment. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed some more. In stocking feet, she was up on tiptoe, stretching like a she-cat on heat. He was nearly eight inches taller than her. Eventually the arm holding the sprig slowly lowered and he let the sad cutting fall to the ground. He took her in both arms, out his hands on her hips. Slowly they went down to lift the hem of her dress, his palms kneading micromesh clad cheeks. Finally the kiss subsided and he took her hand and led her to the big arm chair directly opposite the one I occupied. He sat down and pulled her down into his lap. She had on a mini-dress and black tights. What sight that was when the hem of her dress went high, showing the haze of her new, white panty girdle beneath stretch nylon. I could never figure why she wore that, her belly was as flat as Norfolk. He sipped his scotch while talking to me about starting Karate at the local community centre. while the other hand stroked Belinda’s legs. It was so surreal. God the sight of his hand moving up and down Belinda’s outer thigh as if she were his property, there for him alone to do with just what he wanted. She had the side of her face resting against his broad chest. She looked like she was in heaven. There was something so casual about it all. Even when his hand was up inside her dress seeking access to the inside of her panties via her pantyhose, it all seemed the most natural thing it the world. Already in my mind I was watching my fiancée adjust herself so as facilitate the passage of his fingers to where it mattered most. In my mind I was conjuring how her pussy would feel to him, how her knickers would be sodden with her need for him. I could almost actualise for myself the sensation of his fingers sinking into her warm apple-pie cunt. But he never got that far. Suddenly she got up. He tried to pull her back down but she was insistent, pulling away from him, saying “I have to visit the bathroom.” And with that she hurried off. It was an awkward moment. But I was so relived, pleased she could not go through with her fantasy. He got up and put some music on the Stereo stack. The Everly Brothers, I think it was. He lit a cigarette and offered one to me. I took it. We smoked but did not speak. Belinda returned. She had taken off her tights. I looked at her bare legs, and so did he as she began to fuss with the blankets on the sofas bed. When she bent over I got a glimpse of her arse, still in panties “I don’t know about you two but I’m ready for bed,” she said. With that she slipped under the coves and vanished, only to emerge a moment later to cast out her dress, bras and panties. I got in beside her fully clothed. Under the blankets I removed my jeans and pants. Mark watched us both while he finished his cigarette. Then Belinda said. “You can get in with us, if you want, Mark. This side,” she said, tapping the right side of the sofa-bed. And he did -- after getting naked. I watched him undress and could not help but admire what I saw, in an envious way. But what a treat for Belinda, I thought. Then he was under the covers turning Belinda away from me to face him.. Having them in each others arms, completely naked, just inches from me was like being run down by a tank. My head swam with rage, my cock nearly burst in wondrous excitement. I pushed down the jealousy and went with the arousal. My cock felt like it would explode. I turned to her and ran my fingers over the soft expanse of her back, and then all the way down to her buttocks, enjoying the softness of her cheeks, the curve of her where those cheeks became a fissure. My fingers delved in, traced a line towards between pudding cheeks on down to her cunt. That is where I encountered Mark’s hand. It was such a shock at first, but I let my own hand rest on his, sensed how it moved rhythmically over Belinda’s cunt. I let my fingers slowly trace down his fingers and found their tips buried in Belinda’s lovely warm cunt. In and out he moved those three fingers, slowly extricating them and easing them back into her. Each time they emerged they were more and more slathered with her warm, viscous girl-cum. I let my hand retreat back to her buttocks and went deep between her soft flesh. I loved Belinda’s arse so much, and she had never minded me fingering her there, though at that time I had never plucked up the courage to ask her if I could fuck her in the arse properly. I spread her cheeks and guided my cock between her warm, soft cheeks where her own perspiration now moistened her. She had become so sticky there, what with the heat of the three of us beneath thick blankets. I slid my cock between her cheeks, occasionally pressing against her pucker. Her moans of appreciation told me it was not just Mark who was pleasing her. Mark had gone down on her, sort of pushed her back onto me so she was at forty-five degrees between us. I sensed how she responded to his tongue on her clit. It was not long before sensed Belinda was close to orgasm; her breathing was fast, her moans ever louder letting us both know we had things just as she wanted m. I sincerely hoped Jean was sleeping deeply. Abandoned to spasms of pleasure, she writhed and twisted as if attempting to escape from between us both, moaning out loud in the throws of the most complete orgasm I had ever her known her to have. She became utterly inhibition, abandoned herself to us both. But it was his name she called out, “Oh God, Mark. Oh-my-fucking-god!” And then she rolled on to her back breathing in air like she had just come up for air after a record breaking free-dive to depths unknown. When she regained her breath, she turned her head and looked me in the eyes and I saw her love for me burning there, her complete gratitude to for me allowing this to happen. I leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she was gone from me, pulling back the bed covers and moving her head on to Mark’s chest, resting her cheeks on his chest, then her kissing his nipples one after the other, licking her way down over the rest of his body. I watched her stretched tongue lapping his abdominal muscles; muscles perfectly defined in the half-light and shadows of the light given by one small lamp. His cock became leashed dog straining for her as her lips teased slowly, inch by inch, closer, soon only inches from the very tip. God, his cock looked huge, bloated to bursting threshold. I had never even seen a grown man’s erection in real life, and the sight of it drew me in completely, fascinating me in a way I would never have imagined possible only hours before. I scanned Marks body all over and it was a revelation how pleasing I found his nakedness, last year’s Spanish tan a pale caramel. He had a fine down of nearly white blond hairs on his arms and legs, but his body as smooth and hair-free as a girl. I recalled something I had read about Marilyn Monroe having a similar fine, blonde body down. They said it was made her so photogenic, the way it reflected light. Mark was like that, in that half-light his flesh appealed to me as much as any woman’s. His cock, too, had a unique sheen. I watched Belinda take him in her mouth, let her lips travel the length of it, saw it disappear for moments on end, reappear, then vanish again. Mark must have seen the expression on my face because as she pleased him, he smiled and held my gaze, moaned, “You can -- if you want, Martin. I would like that -- you and Belinda.” I got closer, reached out tentatively and laid my palm on his belly, felt the firm, ribbed, pliancy of his muscles beneath the veneer of flesh. I let my hand travel down over his abdomen to the base of his cock, then my finger pressing into his balls, my palm cradling them as Belinda licked the very tip, rubbing his entire shaft against her cheek, almost rolling it like a pin on pastry, then once more taking it between her teeth, nipping not so gently. Between filling her mouth with it, she would moan and tell him, “God, Mark, I love your cock, really love it!” Then she became aware of how close I was and turned and looked at me and then at his cock. She pushed at it so it was at ninety degrees to his abdomen, her eyes telling me to do it. Finally she whispered in the sexiest tone I have ever heard her use. “It’s okay, Martin, I know want to. I don’t mind.” And so I did. Me, Martin Hartman, sucked a bloke’s cock! Could I have done it if Belinda had not been there to lessen the queerness of it all, to make it a part of something more than guys? Two queers! Who knows, but I sucked and licked, sharing it with Belinda. When he ejaculated, I licked out my tongue to try and take like I now see those girls in porn do in inglorious HD. But Belinda was fast and greedy. Her mouth cover him as he pumped it all into her. But hen we kissed, she passing me what remained. So much of it, it dribbled from her mouth as we kissed, and I licked it off her chin. It was bland but saline, the texture of un-whipped double cream, laced with an ammonia after-kick. She began to swallow but I wanted more, so licked it from her lips, then teeth. The memory of its unique flavour returned over and over during the days that followed. I’d get a hard-on at the thought. It went no further that night. Mark thought he heard Jean get up and go to the toilet upstairs, said she would want to know where he was and would maybe come down to see. So he quickly dressed and left us. Belinda gave me a blow job when he’d gone. It did not take long for me to cum. That was not the end of things. Later that year, when we had moved in to a new flat together, Mark started coming over on a Wednesday night, driving the fifty miles just to be with us for two or three hours. But he never sucked me, and we never kissed or anything. I was just expected to share in the blow job that Belinda invariably gave him, and later I’d watch him fuck her, then I'd get sloppy seconds. Eventually he stopped coming over. Never found out why. An excuse, then another, then no word at all. That was just the start for me and Belinda. Two years of mad sex with all and everyone before we finally went our separate ways. We parted on good terms, no acrimony. I did run into her and her husband in the 80s, but that is another story. I’ll write some more about Belinda soon -- about stuff before we split. Jeez! I wish I was back there with her.